Across the Road
This is the fourth part of a true story about the gay relationship between a small group of consenting adult males - only their names have been changed - in England. If this kind of material offends you, if you are under the age of consent or if such activities are illegal in your country, please close the file and leave now. Otherwise, read on and enjoy, but heed the warning it contains!
Chapter 4 - Monday at Work and After
Well, when I got to work on Monday morning, Tom and Jacques were there with two of our other colleagues but it had been pretty quiet for the hour or so they had been in the office before I got there. The Monday after Easter is a Public Holiday in Britain, though many of our customers were working more or less normally, such was the way of modern international commerce. According to the log, it had apparently been a fairly hectic night, during which the duty manager had considered calling me in. I must remember to continue to divert my home phone to the mobile if I planned on 'playing away'!
Tom came into my office about something and we chatted briefly. I asked about Claire; he said she was fine, but he noticed up my raised eyebrow and quickly added that they were still practising! He offered to work late that evening on overtime to cover a gap in the roster and I agreed. He left my office and I got on with some routine stuff for an hour or so before going out for a pee and getting a coffee from the free vending machine on the way back. I stopped to speak to Ron and Jeff who had been off duty since Wednesday. They were both married men in their thirties, a couple of kids each and lived in the same road about two miles from the office; they were always good for a call-out if things got too busy. The two men had been away with their families for the weekend; their wives and kids got on well together apparently. I idly wondered how well the two men got on, away from the office.
As I went back to my office, I spoke to Jacques briefly and to Julie, the team secretary. She was married to one of our installation managers and was due to begin her maternity leave in three weeks or so.
Soon after midday, Jacques came into my office and suggested that he should go out for a pizza lunch for everyone. I agreed but added, 'No sausages today' and he gave me a knowing look! He quickly collected orders around the office and phoned them to the pizza shop; the manager there offered free delivery, a new service apparently.
Fifteen minutes or so later, I was walking across the office when the door buzzer went, I answered it and thought I vaguely recognised the voice that said 'Pizza delivery' but pressed the release button without any further thought. I was rooted to the spot when George walked in, again wearing his white chinos, in distinct contrast to his coal-black face and bare arms. He was clearly surprised to see me and greeted me by name. I returned to my office as he distributed the orders around the main office, then came in with mine and to collect the cash.
As I counted out the money, I could not resist asking him if he was wearing any underwear today - he said he wasn't. I asked him if we were part of his regular delivery area - we were; must bear that in mind. I said that we usually ordered food in for lunch on weekends and holidays but that the night shift staff usually brought their own. As he left, I said that I would see him soon, he replied that he hoped so and that was that.
I took my food out into the main office and chatted with the staff while we ate. I noticed that Jacques had ordered sausages but with Julie around was eating them normally - apart from the last one that was; he made sure he caught my eye and then sucked it straight into his mouth without a word. The action was not lost on Tom, who clearly considered a ribald reply but was inhibited from doing so with Julie around.
The afternoon wore on, it was pretty uneventful. At four o'clock, Ron and Jeff were replaced by Henry and Barry. At five, Jacques, Tom and I were relieved by Tony, my second assistant manager, who would look after the night shift and John, who had only recently joined us from the local office of a big national telecommunications company. My company operates a very complex shift system to ensure that there was always overlapping cover and that everyone worked the same total day, night and weekend hours over an eight-week period. Although this means there is constant coming and going it worked very well. The guys love it as it gives them plenty of time off with their families and of course, pays well above the usual day rate for their grade. I officially work a standard nine to five, five day week but am usually in the office soon after eight and often late in leaving. I like to do an occasional evening or weekend shift to help me understand the workload and sometimes cover an odd shift if someone is sick or on leave.
Anyway, today had been pretty slow; I had got on well with my admin work so I decided to leave pretty much on time. Just after five, I gathered up my paperwork and put it away, locked my office and walked downstairs with Julie and Jacques. We said 'goodnight' to Julie and then he paused as we got to our cars and asked if I had seen Stewart last night. What could I tell him but the truth? He gave me a knowing look but did not peruse my answer. He got into his car and I got into mine. I would have to be careful what I got up to at work in future and what I told my colleagues.
When I got home, I noticed, maybe I was disappointed, that Stewart's car was not in their drive. I knew he had the day off work but for some reason expected him to be at home. Anyway, I paid little heed, parked my car on our drive planning to put it away later, unlocked the front door, turned off the alarm and went into the kitchen and put the kettle on. I checked the phone, no calls; being a holiday, there was no post but just then the local evening paper came through the letter-box. I picked it up, there were the usual sensational headlines, no news of substance and by the time the kettle had boiled, I had finished with it.
I made some tea and wondered what I would eat. Despite my protestations that I could manage, my wife had left far too much food in the fridge and freezer. She had been away more than forty-eight hours and I had barely touched it. I wasn't very hungry after the pizza and decided on a single portion cottage pie she had made and quickly got out some frozen peas and carrots to accompany it.
It was a warm evening and whilst the meal was cooking, I went to the bedroom and got rid of my clothes. I had just returned to the kitchen when my son, Bill called. I stood there, stark naked, chatting to him for a while before he suggested that he, Charlotte and I went out for a drink in an hour or so. I quickly ate my meal, washed up, had a quick wash and brush up, got dressed and went out. Stewart's car was still not outside their house.
We arrived at the pub almost at the same time, parked our cars and went in. The very first people I spotted at the bar were Eric and Keith; I was wondering how I could possibly introduce them when Stewart came from the direction of the Gents' toilets. Bill noticed him and spoke first; Stewart introduced 'his friends, Eric and Keith' and that was that.
We collected the drinks I had ordered, found a table and sat down; by sheer chance, I was facing the bar and able to keep an eye on the other three. They sat enjoying their drinks; we talked and enjoyed ours. Bill bought another round and as he was collecting them, he spoke briefly to Stewart, Eric and Keith who were just leaving. I noticed two cars leave the car park.
Two pints is my normal limit; Bill said he had to be up fairly early next day as he was working out of town, so we also left about nine o'clock. There was still no car across the road when I got home. I had closed the curtains, had a pee, put the milk bottles out (another quaint English custom I'll tell you about some other time!) and done one or two other minor chores, when there was a furious ringing on my doorbell. I looked through the spy hole - it was Stewart. I quickly released the night bolts and opened the door - it was a very frightened, breathless Stewart without his shirt, looking rather dirty and dishevelled. I let him in before seeking or expecting any explanation.
As he recovered his breath, he told me that the three of them had left the pub and, it being a nice mild evening, had gone to a local wood for some open-air fun. In the darkness, they had not noticed four or five other youths, evidently lying in wait at this seemingly well known (not to me!) cruising spot, intent on a bit of gay-bashing. The three had escaped in Eric's car, pursued by the youths in theirs, but Stewart had had to leave his car in the adjacent lay-by. In hindsight, I was a bit foolish in agreeing to take him back to collect it. I loaned him a sweatshirt; we got in my car and drove three miles or so along a country road out of town.
I had often used the road as a short cut and had noticed that there were often three or four empty cars parked alongside the wood but had thought no more of it. When we got there, Stewart's car was there, at the very far end, with a small van just inside the lay-by, facing us. I fancied I saw two heads duck down as they were caught in my lights but wasn't going to investigate! Stewart had his keys ready, I had agreed to stop alongside, wait for him to get in, start the engine and drive off in front of me. I hadn't done the local police defensive driving course a year or two ago for nothing!
The plan worked and, as arranged, we stopped at a petrol station a mile or so away to make sure the coast was clear; it was. The last thing we wanted was to be followed home by the yobbos. Stewart was still frightened and we chatted for a few minutes before getting into our cars. We stopped again in the car park of my gym; the coast was still clear. By this time, we both needed another drink, so we went in, sat at the bar and I ordered two beers. He calmed down a little as we drank them, but as we were taking a leak afterwards, I made no comment when he said he was still frightened about spending the night alone.
Stewart parked his car on the drive; I put mine in the garage and noticed that he was walking across the road. He had decided he was staying with me that night. As soon as he got in the house, he headed for the bathroom, stripped off and before I could lock up, he was in the shower. I took a clean towel from the airing cupboard and went through the open door into the bathroom. I stripped off my now sweat soaked shirt and was brushing my teeth when he emerged from the shower. I could not help but notice the bruises on his back and thighs and what was surely a shallow knife wound across his buttocks.
He had not even realised that he was wounded until the hot water caused the cut to sting. We looked at the black jeans he had been wearing, there was a clear knife cut across the seat. I put some antiseptic on his buttocks, little more than a scratch really, how lucky he had been. He jumped as the cold liquid caused more stinging but when I had finished he grabbed me in a tight embrace, more relieved to be safe, than anything else.
I pointed him towards our bedroom, as I did so, remembering that my wife had told me to change the sheets on Wednesday. Just at that moment the phone rang, it was her; had I forgotten to ring? No, I had been busy (true) but was just going to, now that I thought she would have finished dinner (feasible). We chatted for a few minutes, I told her I had been out for a drink with Bill and Charlotte (true), I said I was tired (true), that I loved her (true) and was missing her (also true). Naturally, I said nothing of my part in Stewart's escapade, even less was I likely to mention that he was now lying naked in our marital bed!
Then I broke the news that I had been given earlier in the evening; we were to become grandparents in November! She was overjoyed and began all kinds of plans; it took ages to calm her down again, but eventually I persuaded her that it was now gone ten o'clock and she really didn't need to call Charlotte until the morning.
By the time I had had a very quick shower, put out the lights, checked the doors were locked and got to the bedroom, Stewart was sound asleep. I slipped into the bed, put out the light and snuggled in behind him, spoon-wise. He stirred just slightly as I put my arms around him, but quickly settled down again.
I lay there for a long time, my flaccid tool neatly slotted into his ass crack, thinking about the events of this evening, about the risks that these young lads had taken, but more seriously about whether or not Stewart and his friends should go to the police. After all, we could easily have been talking about a very serious injury or even worse.
Eventually, I must have drifted off to sleep.
When I awoke it was light outside; I rolled over, the clock said 7.20 am and whose black jeans were those hanging over the foot of the bed? Just as I was remembering the events of the previous evening, the naked Stewart came in with two cups of tea. He put them down on the night stand, got into bed with me and burst into a flood of tears. I was ashamed that I was having lustful thoughts about him as he sought comfort in my arms, accidentally catching my half hard dick between his legs as he embraced me tightly.
By the time I had managed to console Stewart, the tea was cold, his eyes were red rimmed and the pillow was wet with his tears. We drank the tea anyway and I got up to make some more. By the time I got back, Stewart had washed his face, combed his dishevelled hair and was back in bed. I put the tea down and got in beside him, even though it was now after eight o'clock.
Stewart had been due back at work but while I had been making the tea, he had called in sick. I called in, checked that there was nothing serious going on, then said I had decided to take a day off in lieu of extra time. Fortunately, it was the unsuspecting Ron who took my call.
We sat up in bed and sipped our tea. Well, now or never. Was Stewart going to the police? He looked shocked at the suggestion. I reminded him of the wound he had received, how nearly it might have been much more serious. He thought deeply for a few minutes and without a word, picked up the telephone. Keith answered, Stewart told him where he was and made the proposition, there was some argument, then Eric was on the phone. The conversation was repeated, there was more debate. Stewart looked at me, said he was sure that was alright and put the phone down. I didn't bother to comment on the fact that Eric and Keith were together.
Then he asked me. Would I go with them to the police? What could I say? I agreed, I could play the part of Stewart's Good Samaritan neighbour. Eric, Keith and Stewart would tell the truth, why they had been in the wood, how they had been attacked, that they could describe the yobbos' car and even what the attackers had been wearing. Bravely, they recognised the truth, that they could have been killed last night, and what they had to do.
To be continued; if you liked my story so far, let me know, tell me what it is doing for you; if you didn't like it, tell me that as well, polite criticism is equally welcome - mailto:nakednick2@btinternet.com